


Cake: the coverture edition

by untilourapathy (gwendolen_lotte)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 20:59:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13256511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwendolen_lotte/pseuds/untilourapathy
Summary: She protests quietly.





	Cake: the coverture edition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unadulteratedstorycollector](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unadulteratedstorycollector/gifts).



> Thank you [Aibidil](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aibidil) for betaing! Thank you also to the lovely Kat for hosting.

Astoria makes her displeasure known elsewhere.

She is trotted round dilapidated stately homes like chattel, body offered to the highest bidder. ‘Come, now,’ her mother says, as they visit Beaulieu, Breamore and Broughton. Ball after ball after ball she attends, ball after ball after ball she dances at. But she can only protest quietly. In the post-war zeitgeist, there is no room for rebellious second daughters. She must marry to survive, for her family to survive. How else is she to build an identity?

She meets suitor after suitor, those cavalier, philandering and reticent alike. She nods quietly, turns her head gracefully. Makes her debut in a stunning floor-length gown, which pales in comparison to the brightness of her dreams.

She feels like a cake. One not yet eaten, which would melt if put in the light for too long. Should the light have been turned upon her that day at the ball, however, it would have become apparent that Astoria was merely a pastiche of the pure-bloods that had come before her. She had stolen Daphne’s smile, Millicent’s curtsy, Pansy’s grace. A helpful arsenal against potential mothers-in-law, husbands-to-be, patriarchs.

So it is with great pleasure that Astoria pulls the Muggle tracksuit bottoms on, hidden beneath four layers – of petticoat, lace, Goblin satin, silk. She wears them to remind herself that there is more to life than being a doll in their world of cutthroat darlings. The bottoms not stolen, unlike her smile, but willingly given. By Sophie Roper, the Muggleborn girl in Daphne’s year.

She protests quietly. She has stolen Daphne’s knife, Millicent’s wit, Pansy’s razor, but no weapon is as sharp her silent defiance: her lover’s trousers on, underneath her dress. The dress that she is to be auctioned off in, sold in, bartered in.

She would have nothing if she ran off with Sophie. No family, no friends, no money. But when it is so dark that she forgets her own name, she thinks about running. She never forgets what she is to do, what she has to do. Yet still she runs, sometimes, maybe in practice.

Daphne understands. She hugged her, once. ‘Don’t forget,’ she said. Don’t forget what?

No, Astoria makes her displeasure known elsewhere.


End file.
